


Fart Fairy and Ciabatta Boy

by basedfran



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Casual Ableism, Comedy, LGBT characters, Multi, Rated for swearing, Slight OOC, Slow Burn, im immature and think dumb things are funny, like using words like psycho, meet cute, no mafia au, nonbinary fuuta, or an attempt at comedy, or maybe major ooc but you cant tell bc they didnt have personalities in the first place, trans boy fran
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2019-08-24 21:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16647890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basedfran/pseuds/basedfran
Summary: After one odd meet cute, Fran is determined to see Fuuta again and Fuuta is determined to not die of embarrassment a second time. A "meeting at the grocery store" slow burn with a dumb twist.





	1. Missed Connection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh dont take this seriously. please. i dont usually post romance on this account but this is more stupid comedy that anything romantic.

Fran doesn’t buy bread.

His grandfather (may they meet in the next life) was a chef that especially loved to bake. He taught Fran everything he knew and Fran, naturally talented in most fields and partial to anything that let him have something in common with his grandpa, took to cooking and baking like a fish to water. There’s no need for Fran to buy something he can easily make himself.

But when Fran sees a stunning brunette - tall and leggy, just his type - browsing the shelves in the bread section the only thing he can think of doing to get close to them is walk up and pretend he’s trying to decide between two near identical loaves of ciabatta bread. As Fran’s eyes flicker back and forth between the two loaves, he sneaks glances at them out the corner of his eye, wondering whether this is creepy or not.

Their hair (soft, sandy brown, and a little messy) is held away from their face by a pink headband tied in a 1950s style bow. They’re wearing shortalls colored in the same soft shade of pink and a cozy, cream colored shirt. A tartan shopping bag hangs on the arm farthest from him, filled to the point of bulging with mystery groceries.

They’re tall, maybe a couple centimeter taller than Fran, even in flats. Their eyes are bright and starry as they look into the pastry display case built into the wall, obviously finding it difficult to choose between so many delicious choices. They  _ ooze _ a nicey-nice aura that Fran (going by the opposites attract rule) is really into.

All of Fran’s two brain cells have an emergency meeting trying to figure out a way to get their attention  _ and _ leave a positive impression, his near endless wit typically used to steer people  _ away _ from him.

“ _ Should I make a joke about bread? _ ” he asks himself, still pretending to inspect the ciabatta breads. “ _ Do I even know any bread jokes? ‘If you’re looking for Mr Rye-t, he’s right here.’? That’s terrible; I want to punch myself in the fucking face. ‘Those are some tasty buns you got there.’? No... She’ll slap me and I’ll deserve it. _ ”

Just as Fran’s about to fry his brain by letting the cogs in his brain spin so fast, God gives him a way in.

The stunning brunette farts.

The aisle is empty enough, and the sound is loud enough for Fran to know for sure it was them. He whips his head in their direction, blinking.

They make a desperate attempt at acting casual, trying to keep browsing the pastries, but Fran can see the way their ears are burning.

“Was that you?” Fran asks, jumping at the chance of communication, not realizing this was probably the worst conversation starter in history.

“What?” the beauty ask as little too quickly, glancing in Fran’s direction but deliberately missing eye contact. Their lashes flutter as they start to look around, as if trying to find someone else to blame this on. Their ears turn a darker shade of red each second, their cheeks following suit. “No! ...That wasn’t me!”

They start babbling about how it wasn’t them and how it must have been one of their shoes squeaking against the linoleum and ‘ _ I think I heard bread sometimes makes that noise? _ ’.

All the while, Fran is beginning to smell their little slip up.

It’s not the worst he’s ever smelled (he lives in a boarding house with three of the most disgusting men on the planet, after all), but it’s there and he’d rather it not be. So he starts fanning the area with the ciabatta breads that were still in his hands.

The beauty lets out a horrified little huff. Their face is completely red as they turn, knocking one of the loaves out of Fran’s hand with their tartan tote.

As they rush off towards the front of the store, Fran catches a glimpse of the design on their bag.

‘NU’ is printed in big, navy blue lettering, sitting in a circle made of leafy vines.

His school’s crest. They must be a student there too.

Keeping that in mind, Fran bends down to pick up the loaf he dropped, staring off in the direction that mystery beauty took off in.

He’s definitely fast enough to catch up with them, but even he knows well enough that a strange man chasing after them would scare them shitless.

Putting the loaves of bread back on the shelf, he picks up his basket and treks over to the dairy section to fetch his weekly pound of cheese, wondering if his school’s web page still had a missed connections section.

* * *

  
That night, Nami U’s missed connections page grows one post bigger with an ad titled ‘ _ To Fart Fairy, From Ciabatta Boy _ ’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the post that inspired this shit fest](http://basedfran.tumblr.com/post/179692382207)
> 
>  
> 
> review if youd like, i crave attention


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here i am updating something no one wants or cares about! enjoy!

Bluebell wakes up with a jolt to the sound of her apartment door slamming shut.

Her head whips up, long hair flying and spilling down her back and in her face. Big, round eyes blinking slowly, she lowers back down into her nest of pillows, face first. She moves her arms around, like an upside down snow angel, and searches for her phone. Her left hand catches it under the pillow just above her head.

The light from her phone is much too bright in the near pitch black backdrop of her bedroom. She holds it at arm’s length and squints, trying to figure out the time.

3:42. Her roommate must be home from getting groceries.

“ _ About time. _ ” she thinks, pushing up against her plush mattress to sit up.

She stretches both her arms upwards. Her back pops as it curves in the stretch, flashes of relief releasing as the tension in each vertebrae snaps away. Swinging her legs out and over the edge of the bed, she stands, toes curling into the carpet as she stretches her neck and rolls her head. Her neck lets out a few satisfying cracks.

She makes her way to the door, kicking up a stray sweater on her way and catching it in her hand. With a huff, she pulls it on to cover her bare chest, rolling her eyes as she remembers the last time Fuuta whined about her walking around “naked”. What a prude.

It isn’t naked if she has shorts on.

She opens the door to her room and the warm, orange light of the kitchen spills in in one huge wave. She groans and shuts her eyes, the light still coloring the inside of her eyelids. Blindly, she shuffles over in the direction of the kitchen.

“ _ Finally _ you’re back. You got my donuts, right?” she says, hands groping around to find one of the chairs at the dinner table and throwing herself down on it. “Gimme ‘em. I have a date at 6 and I have to carbo load while I get ready if I want to be the brilliant, vivacious girlfriend Uni knows and loves.” She yawns, mouth stretching wide open, and rests her head on the table. “I’m also gonna borrow your blue halter top dress. The one with the tiered skirt?”

Her roommate doesn’t respond.

And though she’s used to dominating most of their conversations (not because her roommate is quiet, but more because she loves to talk), she doesn’t necessarily enjoy holding a completely one-sided conversation.

With a long, hard sigh, Bluebell wrenches her eyes open, ready to face whatever’s put her roommate in such a mood that they’ve resorted to the silent treatment. “ _ So passive aggressive, I swear. _ ”

She’s unprepared for the sight of her best friend putting away their groceries in a mechanical fashion as small tears roll down their cheeks, accompanied by quiet sniffles.

“...Who do I have to kill?”

Her roommate quickly covers their face and shakes their head, clamming up as they usually do when something’s troubling them. Frustrating.

“Fuuta!” Bluebell snaps, standing up in a huff, hair flying as she stomps over to them. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

Fuuta shakes their head furiously, hands still covering their face. “It’s too embarrassing!” they shout, words coming out muffled through their hands. Their shoulders shake as they let out stifled sobs.

Bluebell grabs their wrists and tries to gently (or as gently as someone like Bluebell can manage) pry their hands away from their face. “What? What’s embarrassing? What did they do? I’ll kill them! Who are they?”

“No one did anything to me...” they say, keeping their hands clamped against their face.

“Bullshit. Why else would you be crying?”

They mumble something incoherent under their breath. Bluebell squints at them. “ _ What? _ ”

“........” More muffled words, all barely a whisper.

“ _ Huh? _ ”

“.........!”

“ _ For fuck’s sake, Fuuta, speak up! _ ”

“ **I FARTED NEXT TO A CUTE BOY AT AEON!** ”

Bluebell holds onto their wrists for a second longer, blinking. “Oh c’mon,  _ that’s  _ what you’re so worked up about?” Bluebell pushes their wrists away and starts digging into one of the grocery bags in search of her donuts. “I’m taking that dress  _ and _ a purse as payment for wasting my time and emotional energy.”

“You don’t understand! I was trying to play it off but then he starts-“ They wave their hands in large exasperated jazz hands. “- _ waving _ the bread around to fan it!”

“How effective was that? Did he use flatbread?” Bluebell asks, taking a bite of one of the cream filled donuts she fishes out the bag.

Fuuta smacks her hand, making her smoosh cream all over her face.

“ _ Fuuta! _ ”

“ **_Show me support!!!_ ** ” Fuuta’s hysterical screaming is enough to get the downstairs neighbor banging at their floor with their broom.

“ **_Jesus Christ, fiiiiiiine!!!_ ** ” Bluebell screams back, causing their next door neighbors to bang on the walls.

The two of them stand in their kitchen, chests heaving as they pant for breath. Ignoring the angered yells from their neighbors (muffled by the walls and floorboards), they don’t take their eyes off each other.

“Listen, you psycho.” Bluebell starts, wiping some cream off her cheek, smearing it into the sleeve of her sweater in the process. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter if your farted next to him or whatever, you’re not going to see him again anyway. What are the chances of meeting the same stranger twice?”

“One in-“

“Rhetorical~!” Bluebell crosses her arms. “But it’s a really small chance, right?”

Fuuta hesitates, staring down at the floor as they rub their arm sheepishly. “Yeah...”

“Then it’s  _ fine _ . No one you know knows about it, and even if that guy tells anyone, the chance anyone will know that’s about you is super slim. You’re embarrassed right now, but you’ll get over it.” She hops up onto the counter, legs swinging idly as she gets back to scarfing down donuts. “S’not like he was your soulmate or anything.”

“You don’t know that.” they groan and try to pout, but a smile is finding its way onto their face. “You wouldn’t get it because you didn’t see him.”

“I doubt I would get it if I had.”

They bonk her gently on the head with a fresh baguette from the store. She swipes at them, trying to knock it out of their hands.

“ _ Stop! Weaponizing! Food! _ ”

A sweet peal of laughter meets her ears and Bluebell smiles, even though she’s still thoroughly annoyed. “Take the dress, but stay away from my bags. I don’t want to find loose chicken nuggets in them again.”

Bluebell sticks her tongue out at them, hopping off the counter to go dig in Fuuta’s closet. “It was a snack, sue me!”

* * *

Bluebell is tangled up in sheets and her girlfriend’s arms when her phone starts vibrating with a flurry of rapid fire texts. With a groan, she untangles herself from the comfort of Uni’s warm embrace, and reaches for her phone on the bedside table.

Her phone is on Do Not Disturb during her dates with Uni, with only Fuuta and her brother capable of getting through and only when they try to contact her multiple times, so she can’t really ignore it.

“ _ The apartment better be on fire. _ ” she thinks, squinting as she unlocks her phone.

_ My Nerd 🤓😘💕 _ : Oh my God, Blue.

_ My Nerd 🤓😘💕 _ : Blue, I know you have a date, but do you remember what happened today at Aeon?

_ My Nerd 🤓😘💕 _ : Remember how you told me to not worry about it because the chances of him ever telling someone I know is really slim?

_ My Nerd 🤓😘💕 _ : Do you remember that, Blue? Do you?

_ My Nerd 🤓😘💕 _ : Because I’ve found evidence to support my claim that you are wrong and I have to change schools.

_ Link attachment from My Nerd 🤓😘💕. _

Bluebell clicks on the link and end ups waking Uni. Hands shaking, body convulsing from laughter wracking her body, she types out a reply.

 

OISDOFNSDOIFB

hey maybe this means he IS your soulmate

fart fairy and ciabatta boy

i ship it

_ My Nerd 🤓😘💕 _ : Come collect your things in the morning, I’m kicking you out.

ODSNDKFABSDFBKSJDFSKDJBF


End file.
